


An Observation on Furniture

by Shadowesque



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 14:26:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12961314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowesque/pseuds/Shadowesque
Summary: Post-TFP, furniture shopping with the future in mind.





	An Observation on Furniture

The flat had been pummeled and, indeed, exploded, but it wasn’t irreparable. John found it a stroke of luck just how many of the original items survived the blast, and he and Sherlock made a point of salvaging what they could before the repairmen (vetted by Sherlock, and more importantly by Mrs. Hudson, personally) came and started making it livable again.

The mounted head, and even the headphones, had somehow made it. Several of the heavier, sturdier chairs--like Sherlock’s, for example. John’s was a little worse for wear, but if he was honest, he couldn’t rightly say if it didn’t already look that way with the explosion only making it more obvious. Reupholstered, they had to be, but as close to the same color and fabric as possible. The couch had fared a little better for its distance, and a thorough cleaning was good enough for it.

The flooring needed redone, and several of the less sturdy chairs, desks, and tables unfortunately didn’t make it. But those items, while homey, were just items that could be replaced. The mirror above the mantle had obviously shattered, but the frame was still good. The walls were a mess, the windows gone, plaster everywhere, dust and grime. The kitchen had mostly survived, but there was still damage that needed fixing.

It was going to be a long road back to normalcy, but John was particularly enthusiastic about brushing the dust off and starting again. He’d never stopped being a soldier, not when he returned from Afghanistan, not after he’d met Sherlock, not after he married Mary, not after the threat of Eurus had ceased. This was just another battle survived, and he got to rebuild what had started it all, what meant so much, with Sherlock.

And with Rosie.

John had to smile to himself as he and Sherlock were out at an honest to god furniture store picking out new pieces to replace the damaged beyond repair. It was perhaps the most _normal_ thing they had ever done together, especially with the baby in tow, to get her out of the house and away from dealing with mostly sitters. (He couldn’t find anyone who _didn’t_ want to babysit the kid of those he was willing to ask, bless.) And Sherlock was pretending so hard he wasn’t out of his depth, quietly assessing the construction, material, actual worth versus retail price of the pieces they passed. John didn’t pay any mind to the prattling, finding it soothing in a way. Until, distracted, he stopped, staring at a low coffee table. Sherlock continued for several paces before he noticed, spinning with momentary confusion, and ending up back at John’s side.

“The table?”

John hiked Rosie up farther on his shoulder, sleepy but not yet asleep, as he wove between a few desk chairs and a futon. “Doesn’t it look just like the old one?” he marveled. The angles, the color, the finish wasn’t quite right but it was _so close_ he had almost suspected it had been lifted right out of the flat to be put on sale here. He leaned down and ran a hand over it, smiling proudly at his discovery. One more bit ofnormalcy they could recover.

“Absolutely not.”  


John’s brain faltered, his fingers hovering over the surface as a look of blankness, then surprise, then confusion ran over his face, looking up to see it was Sherlock’s turn to walk away.

“Hold on--” He wasn’t about to go for his typical loudness with a sleepy child on him, tottering after Sherlock faster than he’d like to keep apace. “Hold on, what do you mean ‘absolutely not’? That coffeetable is a near replica, and once we wear it in, it’ll look no different to us than the old one.”

Sherlock kept walking, taking the tone that implied it should be thoroughly obvious and he shouldn’t have to waste breath explaining it. “The corners are going to pose a problem, sharp edges. It won’t be long until she’s _mobile_ , after all.”

John’s feet halted, rooted, and Sherlock noticed immediately this time, probably banking on it from the much more casual way he turned to stare down his partner in crime-solving.

“You don’t want Rosie running into the corners of the table. When she starts walking on her own.” It was incredibly thoughtful, and an oversight he was about to kick himself for missing, except-- John opened and closed his mouth a few times before deciding to smile. “Means you expect to have her over often enough for that to be an issue.”

“I should think you’d want her to live with her father.” John’s expression softened further, for a moment burying his face partly against his daughter before looking back, about to say something. Sherlock cut him off with a bend of the knees and a feigned eyeroll. “Yes, of _course_ I want you to move back in. Your place is big for the two of you, even if you can afford it--which, you can, but it’ll be a squeeze-- _and_ for as many times as you’ll be with me, thus either dragging her along or phoning up sitters left and right, the logical conclusion is you both move in as soon as it’s finished to avoid the inconvenience.”

Unimpressed, or pretending to be at least, John moved back over to Sherlock’s side. “You _could_ move in with us instead.” Sherlock didn’t have to say anything though, just lock eyes with his mildly unimpressed face. “Nah.”

“Nah.”

“I’d never let you turn the sitting room into a chaotic consultation room.”

“And traveling back and forth to a flat, turned office, a whole half of which would stop being in use? It’d be--”

“Inconvenient, I know.”

“Quite so.”

“We’ll have to implement some new rules,” John added as they continued down the aisle, barely paying attention to the furniture.

“Oh, you know how I detest _rules_.”

“You cannot leave experiments around for her to get into.”

“I don’t just ‘leave them around’; I put them exactly where they need to be.”

“And if you think I’m going to keep getting up by myself every time she cries at night...”

“I need my mind sharp in the morning, and at all times.”

“No taking her to crime scenes until she’s older.”

“It’ll be good experience, expand her horizons, open her up to new possibilities at a young age.”

“And you’ll have to kiss me.”

Sherlock nearly tripped, which was just as hilarious as he thought it would be. To his credit, John didn’t laugh, just looked at his partner in all seriousness.

“What?”

“William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you are an absolute _prat_. Everyone around us has seen it but us. Even Mary saw it, for Christ’s sake. We’re going to live together raising my daughter after everything we’ve been through, so you’re going to start kissing me like you’ve been meaning to for what I suspect is a very long time.”

“And this is to be one of your new rules?”

“One of the most important ones, in fact.”

“Well then. In that case...” Sherlock stepped closer, hesitant at first. “I’ll have to start practicing.” He leaned into John’s space, brushing a hand by his cheek and settling fingers on his neck. The space was closed, a soft touch of lips. John leaned in just a fraction, restraining himself when remembering that maybe in the middle of a furniture store was not the wisest time and place for all this.

Sherlock pulled away slowly before placing a kiss atop Rosie’s head of hair, and when he straightened, there was a contented smile on his face.

“I’ll admit, _some_ of your rules have merit.”

“Good...good,” John started in somewhat of a daze. He wasn’t sure that would actually work. He cleared his throat. “Oh look, new chairs for the clients to sit in, why don’t we have a look over there.” And if he was grinning like a loon, well, obviously he was just excited about chairs was all.  



End file.
